


Those Who Wear Black Masks

by Eyrdamun



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, Persona 5 kink meme, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 03:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11637783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyrdamun/pseuds/Eyrdamun
Summary: Haru only admits it in her mind, but they are similar. Her leader knows what she leaves unspoken and still welcomes her, so she can't complain when he welcomes him too in the end.She doesn't want to anyway.





	Those Who Wear Black Masks

The news of her father’s death feels like a mudoon spell.

It feels like maggots and darkness seeping into her pores to devour her from the inside, like a black miasma lifting her and filling her lungs, like death gripping at her limbs and pulling, pulling. It feels like the Reaper tried to kiss her-

But she averted her face at the last second, and still stands. Frayed at the edges and core, but standing none the less.

That’s how her father’s death feels like.

They say it wasn’t supposed to happen, something went wrong, _we’re so sorry_ , and she simply smiles lightly. She wraps her fingers around the cup instead of their throats, chokes her own anger and desire to hurt them. There's the sensation of an axe’s handle in the palm of her hand instead of the smooth porcelain cup, an arsenal of guns in the back of her mind, and Milady’s fluttering skirt and seething glare. She holds onto those sensations, revels in them even, because freedom for her must stem from betrayal and then lets them go. It's not the right time yet. The thoughts fall to her feet like rose petals.

Softly, noiselessly and ready to be plucked back up when she'll desire.

Her other self, no she herself, smiles into the rim of her cup. 

 

* * *

 

Akechi tells them that they weren’t the ones at fault. Haru is relieved she hadn’t betrayed them yet.

They all tell her of Black Mask, of the persona user who stalks preys in the shadows and kills in the darkest recess of palaces and people's minds. She can see herself doing that. Her mask is as black as her target- but her gloves are purple.

She wonders if she could really do it. Mementos creeping whispers unearth the thought plaguing her nights- ‘ _Why not find out?’_

Swinging down her axe to decapitate the shadows they fight is easy and too different from killing another human being. They don’t bleed, their screams are cutely distorted, and they don’t always all have human silhouettes. They are poor practice, her gloves remain purple even after a baton pass from Joker.

If her gloves were his colour, would it make things easier? Milady’s are pink, and she gently reminds her that the blood can’t splatter her much if it’s a bullet’s kiss that seals the deal instead of her axe.

Haru skips towards the shadow the phantom leader pointed, whips it with the handle of her axe as she rips off her mask to discharge a volley onto its form. Milady offers her hand to her wielder who takes the offering, presses her lips onto the persona's knuckles, and they dance to the battle’s song.

Haru understands now that all is in due time.

When she finally meets Black Mask, she knows, she’ll be finally ready to take his mantle and commit one last heinous act under his name. _Revenge is like ballroom dancing_ , Milady assures her and Haru agrees- there’s first a bow, two people’s body moving in synchronization to the lead of one, and, above all, it requires practice.

’ _You’ll get there,_ ’ her Persona hums as she dips her to the howl of a fallen shadow. ‘ _We’ll get there._ ’ In her dipped position, Haru’s eyes meet Joker’s.

He nods, he knows.

Haru is glad her desire’s weight is shared between the two.

 

* * *

 

She finds out it was Akechi who did it. They all find out at the same time due to a convenient bug and their leader’s suspicion.

Haru thinks she’s not ready, not yet, but if he wants to reap someone else who’s dear to her, she’ll have to be. However, her nerves are rattled, she grabs Morgana and pets him with kind fingers unfitting of her warring thoughts and watches everyone filter out after the meeting is adjourned. Their leader places his hand on her shoulder, a sign of solidarity but his eyes radiate compassion towards not just her, but their rotten enemy.

“We don’t have tea here, but do you want to go out to get some? I can make you coffee if not.“

Haru places her own hand over his, her eyelids closing but not blinding her of the feel of two felines watching her.

“I would like a cup of tea, if you would accompany me.“ His hand slips from underneath hers after squeeze, and she opens her eyes just in time to see him nod and look for his wallet.

They don't speak when they drink their tea. Akira listens to her still.

 

* * *

 

She is a phantom thief.

Phantom Thieves steal.

Lives can be stolen.

Haru sits on her bed late at night and ponders-

Is it crueler to ensure he never breathes again, or to watch him crumble and crash under the effects of his actions, to reap away his celebrity status, his fame, his admirers?

She realizes that she knows the answer, and that there was only hesitation because of which she would rather.

Ann invites her to eat crepes, tells her of the first palace they raided and her thoughts on Kamoshida’s fate. Haru extends her own pastry and rises it like a wine cup to Ann’s lips- a symbol of agreement, a symbol of fraternity that her friend takes with a grin.

 

* * *

 

Next time they go to Mementos, Haru is ready.

She dons Noir’s hat, her steps more natural and tuned to the battle’s melody. She tangos with her axe, caresses the trigger of her grenade launcher like a lover and twirls around, with, Milady. The shadows wither around her, she smothers them and cuts them to pieces with Joker’s approval. She watches them quiver under the barrel of her gun and finds pleasure in it.

Noir dances to their screams, takes the sound of them being knocked down like applause for her performance. She imagines them as Akechi, they don’t bleed, they don’t stain her clothes so they aren’t quite him. But she tries anyway.

 

* * *

 

The plan goes smoothly and Crow had the audacity to call Sae Nijima’s shadow just- just a shadow- were his victims just shadows too? Was her father just a shadow too? She seethes, red rose petals cloud her visions at the edges, but she blows them away for the moment. Their leader is returned to them battered but with a beating, fighting heart.

“We’ll figure out what to do with Akechi later- first, we gotta take down the one behind it all.“ She thinks of it as it paralleling his taking of her father, it makes it easier to acquiesce to leaving the one she wants to hurt alone for the moment. Maybe it would hurt him as much as it hurt her- and then she’ll hurt him more. Pour salt into an open wound and then make new ones to jam spices in them.

They all hug their wounded leader gently for a few minutes, and only if for that night. When she leaves, he stops her and takes her hand in his.

“You need to rest,“ he tells her as if he weren’t the one that was tortured. “It’ll all be fine, so relax.“ She sees where he’s getting at. Akechi is a victim too, a cruel reminder of a possibility that could have awaited them all, and deserves rehabilitation. Haru understands more than anyone in the room expects her to- he squeezes her hand once more and lets it go with a sympathetic smile.

He knows, he saw it in her eyes- no, that’s wrong, he saw it in her mask.

 

* * *

 

Shido Masayoshi’s palace disgusts her. She canons through it anyway, lets the crumbling shadows fan the flames of spite burning in her heart. She can’t run out of stamina yet, this is the palace of the man that orders Akechi, the palace of the man who really took away her father. She hopes his shadow bleeds. She hopes that red flows when she’ll cut him with her axe and that it would dye her gloves. There’s nothing wrong with becoming what he made to kill him, a betrayal stem from one’s child was what she wanted and what was robbed from her.

She’ll get her freedom, she’ll celebrate it as she and Milady see fit.

But Joker’s coattail brush her legs as he walks past her- the material cold and both heavy and light at once. He points with a jerk of his face behind her, and she turns to see Panther’s smile.

They are both right, there are fates worst than death, and the revenge she wanted wasn’t one that ended with patricide, she thrives again.

She isn’t Black Mask even if she wears one and her gloves are purple, not red. They are the colour of royalty.

They managed to get all save for two letters on their first visit and when they return thick as thieves, Milady is no longer with her. Astarte takes her place, and there’s no longer the maddening desire to kill in Noir. She only wants to hurt, only wants to sit on her white chair, sip some tea, and watch the weight of their sins crush their lungs and choke them. If they die as she watches, that would be nice, that would be great and she hopes that after all it would be a million times more painful than what her father went through.

She wants them to suffer as she looks down on them with a smile, the shadows no longer being force to fit Akechi’s face as they die- only when they are cut, only when they are hurt and fall, but not when they crumble into dust. They aren’t him, they aren’t Shido Masayoshi, they are a pointless projection that only serves to make her axe feel lighter in her hands.

They don’t bleed, and she’s making peace with the fact that he won’t either. At least, she’s trying.

So it comes as a surprise, a pleasant one really, that they meet Crow-no, Akechi, because Crow is one of them- after they got all the letters. And actually fighting him came more like a heavenly blessing than the awful outcome Joker made it out to be.

There is nothing awful about a chance to bring their enemies down to their knees.

The only awful thing is that Noir can’t see Akechi’s face under the red mask, not the way she would see it on the shadows she had slaughtered so far- no, instead she can see her father’s face as the black oil trails down his face. It drips down the white princely bullshit suit that is faker than the forgiveness she spoke of to the other thieves.

 _Maybe_ , she thinks as the shadows evaporate like confetti, _that's why he is black mask_.

As soon as the battle starts, as soon as Akechi tries to slash Joker with his sword, she’s there pushing her leader aside, her axe braced and swinging down already. She barely nicks him, and there’s some blood but in the light it looks as black as that ooze and she finally finds out that, had Joker’s hand not touched the low of her back as one of his Perona’s buffed her defense, had Panther’s yell not pierced her ears as she weakened their enemy, that yes.

Yes, she could murder him.

Yes, she could gut him and dye her gloves a stylish new colour that matches Panther’s suit and Joker’s own gloves. And above all that yes, this all sounds more alluring now that he stands in front of her than she first would have thought it would.

Noir barely manages to reign herself in after, Astarte soothing her rage with a chorus of ’ _He can still be rehabilitated, he can still drown by the hands of his own sins_ ’. Her other self- no it’s not an other, she knows this, she has embraced it ever since Milady- speaks the truth of a sweeter freedom, a tastier revenge.

’ _Remember, my dear self_ ,' Astarte breathed, ’ _That this betrayal would leave you free from red chains snaked around your heart._ '

Her words wash over Noir and guide her, ‘ _We don’t have to kill him- he can do it himself as we watch._ ’ A malicious grin blooms on her face, Crow sees it and his steps falter- her axe a little too close to slashing his jugular and Noir whispers a boo sound. Joker waves her back to his side. She wonders if he heard her, if he read her lips.

“Well, lucky for the two of us.“

Noir listens to her leader, he knows what’s best for her, what’s best for all of them. Crow barely manages to stand up, drug himself with his own power when Mona throws in his face his own admiration and feelings for Joker- Noir scoffs because she’ll never let him around her leader even if the way his breathing stutters and his eyes zero in on Joker with longing means he can really be rehabilitated.

Crow refuses Joker’s olive branch and drugs himself with his strange ability- _‘Just like a fool,’_ Astarte mouths into the shell of Noir’s ear. She lets her axe lean against her body as she lets go of it and fluffs up her hair with a roll of her eyes and snarls alongside Fox as she grabs her axe again.

The fluttering of Joker’s clothes as he fights serve as the bass of Astarte’s lullaby to keep her anger at bay. It doesn’t work too well, her hits stronger than they usual are and she channels her adrenaline to her flexing fingers. They clench and unclench about the handle as she waits, ready to strike, ready to maybe accidentally kill, but hopefully beat the guilt back into Akechi’s skull at Joker’s command.

She sees Panther shoot a sympathetic expression to Akechi, she sees Fox stick too close to Joker like a guard dog. She thinks she mirrors him too- being near Joker gives her the most chances to strike. This battle feels longer, Akechi is all force, no tact and so easy to strike that Noir’s blood sings and Astarte holds her bones to ensure they don’t do anything they would regret. The only thing that his encounter confirms is that Shido Masayoshi is his father, and that killing him wouldn’t hurt him as much as her father’s death hurt her. That knowledge will make it easier to not be led astray when they do go confront the rotten man’s shadow. It also makes it easier for Astarte to ensure her desire to kill is kept under control- she no longer whispers in her ears, her voice could be carried by the wind across oceans.

‘ _Look at him- look at yourself!_ ’ her Persona’s words echo under her flesh. _’You’re both the same.‘_

Noir pushes Joker out of the way from an attack, Fox strikes in her stead.

_‘Don’t avert your eyes from what you once were.’_

Crow’s armoured fingers claw the air towards Joker like a puppet moving on broken strings- Noir doesn’t get why he forewent the blade by his side, why she sees him like that- and she kicks him away from her leader.

_‘Don’t avert your eyes from what you almost willingly became.’_

When Crow falls again, he kneels in front of Joker. A part of Noir wants to raise her axe and execute him, but even that side of her acknowledges she won’t find the peace of mind she yearns for.

She doesn’t think anymore that watching them become their own destruction would give it to her either, but it would be better than nothing.

Adrenalin pumps in her blood, her axe is still out in her hand, her grenade launcher’s ammunition on her hip and Astarte pressed against her back. The battle left Noir too keyed up even if her breathing already returned to normal. She still wants to hurt him for what he did, wants to bruise him so that she doesn’t have to think of her incapability in front of her father’s death, wants to make him bleed even if no tranquility will bloom in her guts. She wants to damn the consequences for an eternity, but knows they will damn her in return if she does.

Noir, Astarte, _Haru_ is aware that in the end all she will do is damn herself and her own black mask.

She is barely paying attention to what they say, almost doesn’t hear the intruder’s steps and almost doesn’t turn to look at him. But she does, and she doesn’t gasp like the other thieves. A cognitive image of Akechi stands before them and it speaks of something. She doesn’t really listen. She remembers how good it felt to have crushed the cognitive version of her fiancee’s face into the ground. She thinks back on how pleasant it was to watch the cognitive men under Shido Masayoshi’s thumb become demons that quivered and screamed in fear under her relentless assault.

The battle against Akechi- against another human of flesh, blood and bones- leaves her unsatisfied, especially compared to all those.

Noir makes one step forward, she doesn’t take notice of the shadows the cognition brought as back up, doesn’t even give a moment’s thought to the injured Akechi- she only spares one second to catch Joker’s glance.

He nods at her and that’s that.

She doesn’t scream out a battle cry, she doesn’t bother keeping quiet as she sprints towards the cognition, doesn’t look back when Queen yells after her or when Panther gasps. Noir just swings her axe and strikes the cognition’s shocked face with the blunt part of her weapon. The strike powerful enough to throw the cognition on its back and she steps on the hand holding the gun. The weapon looks very much real. It looks very much like what she imagines Akechi to have used when he killed her father.

“You won’t need this,“ her words are calm, under her foot there’s a sickening crack and the cognition barely gasps in pain.

“What... the fuck?“ She knows it is the real Akechi who speaks.

And Noir simply keeps her eyes trained on the cognition as she drives the handle of her axe into its gut as the back up shadows howl in alarm. She doesn’t need to look at them either because a second later Joker is behind her like a ghost and he places his hand on her shoulder. She recognizes the black wings of Arsène on her peripheral vision and leans back slightly so that it’s easier for Joker to talk to her.

“Do what you must,“ he tells her because he knows, always. And that means that this really is for her own good. “We’ll take care of the rest.“

The other Phantom Thieves pass by her, only Mona and Skull staying behind and by her side. She knows they are there to have her back- she’s lucky that she’s made such great friends. She slams the handle of her axe again into its stomach and its grip on the gun falls- she daintily leans down to pick it up herself as it groans.

She wants to strike him again, but Astarte halts her.

_’Do you not wish to give him a chance?’_

Noir thinks about it as she watches the cognition clutch its gut. She nods to herself, only turns her face slightly to where the real Akechi struggles to stand.

“Do you want to join in?“ The cognition sits up, and Noir puts it back on its place in the ground as she pistol whips it with its own gun. “There won’t be anything left of him after I’m done, so speak up now.“

Crow just stares at her in what she guesses is shock and just shrugs. If he won’t join in, then-

“He’s everything I hate about myself. He’s the one that will disappear.“

Noir doesn’t know where that came from. She doesn’t care to find out but she echoes the sentiment. She smacks the cognition on the back of the head with the handle of the gun- there’s a sickening crack, a few teeth that fall out of that things mouth. She knees it in the face, the noise of a nose breaking and Skull saying ‘fuck’ in the background.

That makes a smile bloom on her lips.

The gun is lighter than her own grenade launcher, so holding it in one hand as she shoots the cognition on the legs is easy, the barrel smaller than her own so the view of the cognition howling in pain isn’t as obstructed. It’s a nice enough sight, and her heart is elated, Astarte laughing softly at her wielder’s glee. She swings her axe and digs it into the cognition’s shoulder with enough force that she’s certain she cut bones too. Or what would be bones had it been a real person- the lack of blood reminds her what she’s really torturing, reminds her of how her hands will still remain clean and- There’s really no need for guns if her gloves remain purple. She throws the cognition’s gun over her shoulder with no care, lifts her axe once more and strikes the thing’s left elbow, cutting it off clean.

A black smoke oozes from the cut as if it were just another of the million enemies they’ve fought in mementos. She thinks, suddenly and in a moment of clarity, that she understands what Crow had meant when he called them just shadows.

She keeps hacking and swinging her axe in the beautiful way she and Milady practiced once or twice, kicks at the dismembered limbs to make more room for her dance. The others that aren’t watching over her to ensure her safety are engaged in a battle of their own and their cacophony serves as a drum’s beat for her movements. What sweet friends she has, that they would happily give her a tempo to her steps, a bass-line that drives her hesitations and thoughts away.

Even if Joker told her to do as she pleased, she still follows the lead of his tune.

Noir finally guts the cognition with her axe. It would have been easier to do if she had Joker’s knife but she would have used it to skin him first had she had it. But she simply doesn't have the blade handling skills for that. The cut is thick and rough, black fog spews out of the wound nonetheless. Yet the cognition still shrivels, still crawls like a worm. It gets harder and harder to see the face it used to wear, the fog creating a screen around it.

She hears Astarte warning, places her axe’s blade in front of her leg facing the smoke as if she were placing down her empty tea cup on its plate and hears a gun shot echo as it pierces the shroud of smoke. There’s silence and Noir muses the others must have finished their battle against the shadows.

The darkness dispels, she sees the cognitive Akechi’s head a mere centimeter from driving its skull into her axe with a bullet wound on the side of its head. The image lasts a second, she finds it less scarring than what happened to her father, and she turns around. Crow is there, behind Skull and Mona, propped on Joker’s shoulder with the gun she had discarded in his hands. He looks away when their eyes meet, but she keeps her sights on him as she walks to them calmly.

She's not foolish enough to think he tried to protect her. She thinks nothing of it- birds of a feather flock together and _les corbeaux sont noirs._

Panther and Queen come join her halfway through. Fox nods at her and Oracle waves at her.

Noir feels cold, the rush of pleasure from hurting a shadow dying off in her veins, but she doesn’t feel empty. She feels at ease, she stands straighter, and Joker smiles at her. She was right to trust him blindly, Joker always looks out for her. She was right to raise her glass to Panther’s words, Crow’s slumped shoulders and curved spine were a nicer sight than all her reveries of his corpse had been.

“Let’s secure the route to the treasure,“ Joker orders as he redistributes Crow’s weight to make him easier to support.

They all nod and turn to form a circle around their leader to keep him safe. Noir is the only one to break formation momentarily to reach out and gently tap Crow’s upper arm. Joker shoots her an encouraging smile accentuated by welcoming grey eyes. They are storm clouds, a prelude to the rain that she has denied for long and Noir knows that what she’s about to say has been approved.

“Don’t make a step out of line.“

She tips her hat and goes back to her spot, her steps lighter as Crow's becomes more rigid. Astarte floats and glows in her core, brushing against her lungs like butterfly wings, and her gloves are as purple as they were on the first day she wore them.

**Author's Note:**

> Les corbeaux sont noirs. = Crows are black.
> 
> Feel free to point out any typos, the link the meme prompt is here: http://personakinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/993.html?thread=416225#cmt416225 . It didn't end up having Akechi as afraid of Haru as op probably wanted lmao...


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